LOVE LINE
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: Matt has been dead for a whole year, and he still has one thing left to tell Mello. OneShot -DEADICATED TO Meh-Luh-Oh.


**Title:** _L.O.V.E. L.I.N.E._

**Summary:** Matt has been dead for a whole year, and he still has one thing left to tell Mello. OneShot -_DEADICATED_ TO Meh-Luh-Oh. [and yes, I misspelled '_dedicated'_ on purpose! Clever, ne?]

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it, sucka, you should know that! If I did own it, the whole series would be teeming with sexy male escorts and equally attractive male clients.

**Author's Note:** This fic is pure whimsy and it's dedicated to someone very special to me! Please Review!

…

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**Matt's POV**

It's been a long morning. My Gameboy's dead and I can't find the charger. My cigarettes seem to have completely vanished, but my over-filled ashtray still sits in the center of the coffee table, just where I left it. Yep. Right next to my favorite coffee cup – y'know, the one with the checkered handle and the Nintendo logo on it. Unfortunately, even the coffeepot seemed to hate me today, because I turned it on and was blessed with no coffee! The damn contraption just didn't work!

Was the world conspiring against me or something? So not cool. No games. No cigarettes. No coffee. What's next?

I was beginning to feel exasperated, so I went to the bathroom with the intent on brushing my teeth and getting ready to start the day properly, only to find that my toothbrush was gone as well. _The fuck_?

So, it was with a grunt of disapproval that I borrowed Mello's OralB, wetting the bristles, applying a cheap brand of toothpaste, and bringing it to my mouth. For some reason, I couldn't quite taste the minty flavor, and my mouth didn't feel refreshed even after I'd rinsed and spat into the sink.

I was beginning to get pissed. Something was terribly wrong today; I just couldn't put my finger on it. Still, I decided to see what my boss was up to. He would have all the answers; after all, he was Mello, which meant that he knew everything! I couldn't stop the smile that fell into place as I exited the bathroom and headed straight to my boss's room. I placed my hand on the knob and carelessly tore open the door, finding myself mildly surprised… because Mello always locked the door when he was in there. No one, not even myself, was allowed to enter without permission.

My eyes immediately found their target. A mop of blond hair that barely brushed a pair of shoulders. A limber and beautiful torso, bare and muscled in all the right ways; perfect, save for the scar that was both grotesque and beautiful. And, of course, those tight leather pants that hugged in all the right ways, leaving no room to the imagination. Lastly, the combat boots; simple but necessary.

These things made up Mello, my boss and roommate. My friend and cohort. My everything. My reason for living.

Mello was sitting right there, in a simple foldaway chair. His head was down, his face angled towards a newspaper he'd been reading. Then, without warning, a cry of frustration broke from his lungs and he threw the paper to the ground, as if abusing it would make things better.

But, what was _wrong_? I was curious, but Mello didn't traditionally like to be questioned, so I didn't ask. Instead, I just stood there and waited for him to acknowledge me.

Any second now. And minute. C'mon, Mells, just say something to me. Look at me. Say something. Look at me, dammit. Mello! Mihael? C'mon, you know you can't resist looking. I'll give you my best puppy-eyes. Why aren't you looking at me? Are you okay?

Worry began to settle over me, and I open my mouth to voice my concern, only to be met with… static? My voice? It won't work! This didn't make sense. So, I tried again. Every time I tried to say something, my voice seemed to get stuck in my throat, and all that escaped was white noise. I was getting seriously freaked out. This wasn't normal. I couldn't seem to get my vocal cords to vibrate at all.

I moved closer to Mello, desperate to get his attention. I waved my hands in front of his face. My body trembled in worry. I tried so hard to capture his attention, but nothing seemed to work.

So, I grabbed at the newspaper he'd been reading prior to now; I rolled it up and smacked him with it. But I instantly regretted my actions when he swatted the paper away and got to his feet before walking to the bed. He laid on the bed and just… stared. At the wall, I think. Or maybe he was just staring off into space or something.

I just couldn't understand what was going on. My brain wasn't making the connections here.

Once again, I tried to speak but found myself incapable.

Then, after what felt like forever, I watched Mello get up, grab his vest, slip it on, and zip it up. Then he grabbed his rosary, but… instead of putting it on like I expected him to, he just stared at it. Anger seemed to cloud his vision and he threw the crucifix to the ground, just as he had the newspaper.

"Liar! Every last one of you. Everyone lied to me!" he shrieked suddenly, his breath rasping and his shoulders heaving in tandem as he lost control of himself.

I wanted to hug him, but I know that he keeps a loaded gun on him at all times, and pissing him off would be stupid as hell.

"Why did you lie to me?" Suddenly, his head snapped in my direction, and I felt his icy gaze bore right through me.

I suddenly felt very naked.

"Why does this always happen? People get close to me. They lie to me. And then… they leave me." I watched, mortified, as a single tear slipped past his right eye; his left one too damaged to produce any telltale liquids.

My insides began to ache. I wanted to comfort him. I wanted to tell him that I was right here and wasn't going anywhere. I wanted to…-

It doesn't matter what I wanted, I guess. This wasn't about me; this was about my blonde friend and superior cohort. It's always been about him, and I've always been happy to comply with that idiom.

Mello stole himself away from me, grabbed at the newspaper again, sat on the bed, and just stared at it, like it might have all the cheat codes in the universe.

And, against my better judgement, I approached and took a look at what he was reading.

The Obituaries? Nothing strange there. So why was Mello being such a mope and ignoring me?

For reasons I couldn't fathom, panic surged through me. I instantly reached to grip at Mello's shoulders. I wanted to shake some sense into him, but he didn't acknowledge that I'd even touched him. And what's more, I couldn't feel the chill of his leather or the warmth of his skin beneath my hands. My head buzzed with alarm.

C'mon, Mello. The joke's over. Talk to me. Smile at me. Tell me how funny you think this is. Laugh at my expense. Make this all make sense. Make me feel better. Let me make you feel better. Please. Just acknowledge me. Yell at me. Do something to let me know that I'm alive and you know it.

But no acknowledgement came. I could feel myself sinking further into despair. Dread was the only way to describe my feelings right now. Dread and despondency. And agony. And anguish. And all those other nasty, sad, glum, depressing, and livid emotions.

"I'm so sorry, Matt," he said quietly, getting up and retrieving his rosary.

I had to wonder: what the fuck was he talking about? I wanted to ask, but of course, my words were like dead air.

I started to cry. No tears escaped, but sound finally did, and it sounded strangely like mourning, like those horrid moans and wails that are poorly portrayed in horror flicks. And, it was strangely satisfying to finally hear myself say something, even if it wasn't the words I wanted.

Mello's eyes seemed to widen, as if he could hear my cry, and he hesitantly retrieved his rosary, white-knuckling it and holding it close to his chest. "M-Matt? Mail?" He looked around, frantic and desperate. "Matt… you're dead."

And, in an instant, it all came back to me.

The Kira Case. We were so close. The end was nearing, and Mello would be able to prove himself once and for all. But… Kiyomi Takada. The bodyguards. My car. The chase. I was surrounded. Everyone got out of their cars, myself included. I was so smug, knowing that Mello would bail me out soon, but they turned their guns on me. I said something I thought was witty, declaring that I would come quietly… But that wasn't enough. The first shot missed me entirely, serving as a warning and lighting my senses on fire. The second pierced my shoulder, and after that, I could hear _nothing_. The colors around me seemed to blur and fuse into nothingness. I could feel my body jerk with each bullet that hit me, but I couldn't feel any _pain_; I must've been in shock. Then, after only a minute or two (though it felt like an eternity) I slumped down, smacking my head against my car, which was also probably riddled with holes. I felt _fine_ though. I was a bit light-headed, and my stomach was queasy, and my brain was fuzzy, but… _I was fine_, right? I tried to inhale the last of the nicotine from the cigarette I had between my lips at the time, only for it to fall out of my mouth. And, after that, I remember nothing.

Had I died? For Mello? Was it all worth it? Wasn't I supposed to see some Pearly Gates and shit? I wouldn't be going to Heaven, so where the fuck is Hell? Where are the burning embers that are supposed to lick at my tortured soul? Am I in Limbo?

I stared at Mello, waiting for further acknowledgement, but he brushed me off and exited the room, muttering something or another about _needing a new hacker_.

I tried to yell after him, to tell him that I was here for him. I tried to tell him. I wanted him to know so many things… but, alas, there was no sound. White noise. Static. Soft sounds of mourning. That's all.

And he walked out, completely exiting the warehouse; I didn't need to follow him to know that he left. In a way, I could _sense_ it; his absence left a strange hollow feeling inside me (no pun intended since I seemed rather transparent).

While he was gone, I scavenged and explored. I found that: contrary to popular belief, I could not walk through walls or anything like that, but I could open doors without keys even if they were locked. I found that I was incapable of going outside of this warehouse, as if my very soul were bound to it. Every time I tried to step out into the world, I found myself smacking into an invisible wall, kinda like the barriers and boundary-lines in my videogames.

And, speaking of my videogames, I found my chargers. I found my games. I found my cigarettes and lighters. I even found my goggles, which seemed so strange since my vision was still tinted in the familiar color. Oh, and I found my phone, too. It was all packed into a little box labeled: '_DON'T TOUCH, IT'S MINE'_. It was scrawled in Mello's handwriting, of course, and the sight of the familiar script made me smile.

Still, there was a reason I was glad to find all this stuff, and it had nothing to do with any of my hobbies or addictions. My hand shot out and grasped the phone; I could see my fingers wrapping around it, but I couldn't feel the weight of it in my hands. It was so strange and almost disturbing. I flicked it open and pressed it on. The screen loaded and I set to work.

…

**Mello's POV**

Today had been terrible. It had been almost a full year since Matt's death. I still don't know how I survived that stunt, but I do know… that my redheaded companion... died. The fucker died on me… before I had the chance to tell him how much he meant to me.

Today, I'd been in my room; the door was locked, as it always was when I was in there, and I was looking at an old newspaper that I'd saved from so long ago. It was important to me. It was a painful reminder that I'd lost someone important to me. It served as a memorial of sorts for my Matty.

I looked at the Obituary, reading it over and over, confirming something I already knew. Matt had died. And there was nothing I could do about it.

I went about my newer routine, attempting and failing at forcing blissful denial, and then allowing reality to crash down on me, leaving me in tears.

All morning, I felt strange. Like I was being watched, but I wasn't frightened or paranoid, though I probably should have been.

And, with only mild hallucinations of slamming doors, floating newspapers, and chilled fingers against my shoulders, I finally forced myself to get up and leave. I'd need to get myself a new hacker anyways. And that's what I was going to do.

As much as I loved and missed the redhead, moping about wouldn't bring him back from the dead.

…

I left. And, later, I came back alone. I'd had no such luck finding a new hacker, but then again, I wasn't really trying my hardest, was I?

I stomped in and looked around, immediately noticing the closet door open and sighting a box that in the middle of the floor. I approached the box, only to halt a few feet away as I realized just what that box was.

'DON'T TOUCH, IT'S MINE'

I had written those very words. I suppose, at the time, it was my way of claiming what was left of my childhood friend. It was my one way of holding on.

And, as I stare at this box - once sealed and hidden away - and see it so carelessly torn open, my insides boil with fury. I quickly approach said box and flip the lids; then, I shoved the box back into the closet and slammed the door shut.

Haven't I suffered enough? I lost him last year, and it was all my fault. He died, and I could have prevented it if I hadn't been so caught up in proving myself worthy of some shit I don't even care about anymore. I _could_ have saved him.

Fuck, we could have _saved each other_.

It had been a full year, to this day, and it didn't help that I was still unable to cope with this loss. In fact, more often than not, I hallucinated his continuance in my life. I would see him going about his usual activities. I would hear his button-mashing. I would smell his nicotine. And… sometimes, if I tried really hard, I would feel his breath on my neck and his arms draped over my shoulder in a friendly manner.

Because, as much as I hated to admit it, we were _just friends_. We never had a chance to be anything but that, but… in my mind, we could have been.

Still, I pushed these thoughts aside and let out a howl of aggravation before treading to my room, slamming the door open, and advancing to my bed. I was just about to fling myself onto said bed when something caught my eye. Or, rather _three_ somethings.

_First_ off, my bed was _made_, which was odd because I didn't make the fucking bed. _Ever_. Because it was only going to get disheveled again. So, I was immensely surprised by how tidy it suddenly looked, each edge pressed and folded and tucked just right – just like Matt used to. (That's right, contrary to popular belief, Matt wasn't a lazy slob. _Lazy_? Yeah, he was that, a little, but he _hated_ mess. I, on the other hand, didn't give a fuck. I guess he spent so much time cleaning up _my_ messes that he neglected his _own_; hence the easy misunderstandings.)

_Second, _there was something atop my pillow. A _phone_. A _cherry-red_ one. But, not just _any_ cherry-red one, no… This phone had a _Mario_ trinket attached. And… it was, most undeniably, _Matt's_. And, of course, with a woeful expression crossing my face and sadness clouding my vision, I grabbed the phone with shaky hands and flipped it open, mildly surprised to see the display reading: '_1 New Message.'_ I was skeptical and hesitant (and admittedly nervous) as I checked the voicemail that had been left.

At first, all I could hear was silence, which went on for nearly fifteen seconds. I was just about to turn the phone off and put it away when another sound hit my ears. _Static_? Again, I waited several seconds, and I was rewarded with a the sound of scrambled words bleeding from the phone and into my eager ears.

"_M-Mel-lo? It's m-e. C-Can you h-ear m-me?"_

I was nearly breathless. That voice, however scrambled it was, was familiar. I would know it anywhere. It was Matt's! I pressed the phone to my ear so tightly that I could almost feel the radiation waves flowing from the communication device.

I was desperate to hear more. If Matt had left a dying message, I wanted to hear it. I loved the dumb fuck with everything in me, even if I was never good at showing affection. I listened intently. I needed to hear this. I had to. Shock was evident on my features as I waited for more words, but… none came. I waited almost a whole minute, and during that minute, the static gradually faded...

I felt as if my heart had been in my throat, and it seemingly dropped into my stomach as a new wave of depression enveloped me. Then, from the silence emerged the same voice, only clearer, now lacking the interference.

"_Mells, it's me. Matt. But, as you know, my real name is Mail. I don't know if you'll ever hear this, but… I had to tell you. I had to tell you that I didn't lie to you. I didn't leave you. I'm still here, and I always will be. My body may be gone, but… fuck, Mells, don't count me out. I love you. So… take care of yourself. Because… I'll be watching."_

I listened with wide eyes; eyes that suddenly felt very wet. I played and replayed the message over and over again, memorizing every word, every pause, and every lilt. After the third time hearing it, I didn't even care that the first part was muffled by static. A huge grin broke across my face, and I laughed in spite of the horror that clawed at my insides.

Because Matt never lied and never left. Matt stayed with me… even after his death. And now, he was watching me… Like an angel.

For the first time since Matt's death, I felt at peace. I moved to lay on the bed, only to notice…

_The third something that had originally caught my attention._ Matt's goggles lay in the center of the bed. I grabbed them and brought them close to my face, admiring them with a smile that was both happy and sad. I gripped the frame in my hands and breathed warm breath on the lenses, blowing off dust and fogging up said lenses. Then, in a show of sentiment, I pressed my lips to one of the lenses and left a faint smudge in the outline of my mouth before slipping them on and lying atop the perfectly-made bed and cradling the phone to my chest.

On their own accord, my eyelids slipped closed and, for the first time in a whole year, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

**3****rd**** Person POV**

The blonde slept peacefully throughout the night, having the ghostly voice of a pseudo-lover whispering into his ear. He was, of course, completely unaware that those ghostly murmurs and chilled touches were very much _real_ and given by the grace of his beloved redhead.

And said redhead found himself smiling as he cuddled with the man he called _a friend_. He'd watch over the blonde for as long as possible. Because their bond was stronger than anything, including _death_.

And Mello would sleep, guarded by his angelic Matt, and all would be serene. And when morning came, the living cohort would awake to a world bathed in orange. It would take a moment to realize, but he would soon take note that his kiss-print still occupied a solo lens, and yet… a second and slightly smaller kiss-print appeared on the opposite lens.

And yes, this was a new day, and somehow, even with Matt's absence, Mello felt like he could move on. And if Mello could move on, then so could Matt.

Because this is what love was really about.

Eternity. And letting go. And holding on. And renewal.

**END**

…

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**/Just to clear up some possible confusion: When Mello kissed the goggle lens, it was a means of expressing sentimentality, and –Yes, the second kiss-print came from _Matt_! So, wha'cha think? This idea was half-baked, but I really tried! So, please review!/**


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